Barking at the Moon


  • ** Recently Updated

TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SEARCH ME

May 05, 2008

CRACE ARCHIVES TO AUSTIN

The archives of Jim Crace - author of TEV favorite Being Dead - have been acquired by The Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center at The University of Texas at Austin.

The archive contains all of Crace's manuscripts, not just of his novels but of stories, plays and essays. The collection also includes notes and outlines for works, reviews, trade journals, radio plays, art work, recordings, press clippings, juvenilia, correspondence and a proposal for two novels, "The Finalist" and "Archipelago."

The juvenilia bit is especially interesting just now as we've been considering a garage purge and are agonizing over what to keep.  How many writers, we wonder, keep everything?  Are you hoarder or a streamliner?  Advice and perspectives welcome.

April 21, 2008

WHAT WE'RE READING

Two extraordinarily good reviews for you to spend some quality time with today:  First up, Daniel Mendelsohn takes on The Landmark Herodotus (which we have been dying to crack open) for the New Yorker:

A major theme of the Histories is the way in which time can effect surprising changes in the fortunes and reputations of empires, cities, and men; all the more appropriate, then, that Herodotus’ reputation has once again been riding very high. In the academy, his technique, once derided as haphazard, has earned newfound respect, while his popularity among ordinary readers will likely get a boost from the publication of perhaps the most densely annotated, richly illustrated, and user-friendly edition of his Histories ever to appear: “The Landmark Herodotus” (Pantheon; $45), edited by Robert B. Strassler and bristling with appendices, by a phalanx of experts, on everything from the design of Athenian warships to ancient units of liquid measure. (Readers interested in throwing a wine tasting à la grecque will be grateful to know that one amphora was equal to a hundred and forty-four kotyles.)

Elsewhere, now that some of the heat has burned away, Ruth Franklin takes a predictably thoughtful look at Beautiful Children, and comes away deeply impressed.

As a writer, Bock is still a little rough. His characters' dramatic monologues sometimes run away from them, and certain anachronisms in the plot (particularly its heavy emphasis on videotapes) betray the eleven years he reportedly spent on the book. But these are minor complaints about a hugely ambitious novel that succeeds in ways that other recent (and hugely hyped) novels of similar ambition have failed. Beautiful Children manages to feel completely of its moment while remaining calmly unaffected by literary trends. It makes only the faintest nod toward magical realism. It is free of typographical gimmicks and other antics of style. And it demonstrates a deep, almost classical understanding of the way the novel form ought to work--the patterning, the layers of meaning, the motif casually tossed into the beginning pages that is picked up again later with an altogether different spin--that so often is missing in even the most lauded contemporary novels.

WHO KNEW ... ?

... that Isabel Fonseca (Mrs. Martin Amis) created our favorite TLS feature, NB?

April 14, 2008

BOND MEETS MAIGRET

Librarian's Place alerts us to this wonderfully entertaining account of a conversation betwen Georges Simenon and Ian Fleming discussing the business of writing thrillers.

'My friends think my writing isn't literature and therefore deserves no sympathy at all,' Fleming said.

'Thrillers may not be Literature with a capital L, but it is possible to write thrillers designed to be read as Literature. Practitioners in this vein have included such people as Edgar Allan Poe, Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Eric Ambler, Graham Greene, and of course, Simenon. I see nothing shameful in aiming as high as these."

MONDAY MAILBAG: THE "BACK FROM A LONG TRIP" EDITION

* Five Chapters celebrates its 75th story with Kate Christensen's Voice Lessons.

* There goes the arrondissment: The Academie Francaise admits a pop songwriter.  Elsewhere, from the "Department of Fun as Only the French Can Have It", the fate of the semi-colon hangs in the balance.

* Amitava Kumar offers his own coverage of the recent Philip Roth shindig.  Elsewhere, Sam Tanenhaus reports on the Buckley and Mailer memorials.

* Bruce Bauman considers a new collection of 41 previously uncollected Leslie Fiedler essays:

Unfortunately, with the exception of a handful of essays, the pieces here do little to highlight the myth that was the thunderous Fiedler. Too many reiterate points Fiedler made with greater flair elsewhere -- especially in regard to the homoerotic undercurrent in many American novels. Too much time is spent on Fiedler's disdain for the New Yorker and its middlebrow taste, as well as his enmity toward the "New Critics" and the French theorists. He meticulously, um, deconstructs "The Grapes of Wrath" until it fits quietly in the middlebrow book bin. There's a funny piece on Twain's little-known pornographic skit "1601," and other pieces draw perceptive parallels and distinctions between William Faulkner's Temple Drake and J. D. Salinger's Franny Glass.

* The Telegraph considers the new iteration of Granta under editor Jason Cowley, and delivers a mixed but hopeful notice.  (Incidentally, the new Granta site goes live April 15 - an auspicious date, indeed.)

* Arturo Vivante, who wrote more than 70 short stories for the New Yorker, has died.

“His stories were very much of their time,” Roger Angell, a fiction editor at The New Yorker, said on Thursday. “Short fiction was becoming shorter, coming down to the intentionally modest. He was thoughtful in his perceptions of human emotions.”

* Steve Wasserman uses the occasion of the publication of Fidel Castro's autobiography to wonder how history will judge the dictator.

* Time Out New York catches up with several of our favorite people - Maud Newton, Lauren Cerand, Kimberly Burns - who try to untangle the "unpredictable world of publishing."

* The New Republic hosts a debate/discussion about comics' golden age.

* Nigel Beale interviews David Solway on "What makes a poem great?"

* In his latest Tommywood column, Tom Teicholz reflects on the closing of Dutton's.

Dutton's was old school: I had a house account there that allowed me to sign for books for which I was billed monthly; my 10-year-old daughter had signing privileges on my account. I had imagined the day would come when she would have her own account, but that is not to be. (This reminds of the time my father was approached about buying a "lifetime membership to a health club," and he replied, "My lifetime, or your company's?" He outlived that business by several decades.) So it goes.

* Robert Birnbaum and Chip Kidd pull up a chair for a long chat.

* And, finally, for those of you unsure which political bumper sticker to affix to your vehicle this year ...

April 10, 2008

THE GROVES OF ACADEME

David Leavitt partakes in a lengthy, candid interview about the "dire state of fiction" at Court the Jesters.

In all honesty, even though I teach in an MFA program, I have mixed feeling about the MFA industry (and it is becoming something of an industry). Here at UF, for instance, the quantity of applications that we receive increases substantially each year. This year we only accepted 6% of our applicants in fiction. More and more people seem to be writing.

Yet we're told that fiction is on the skids, is tanking, that no one buys novels or story collections any more. There's a paradox here, and a problem that reveals itself when you actually read these stories by people who don't bother to read fiction themselves. At the very least the MFA programs preserve the idea that writing is a craft and that established writers should train younger writers as established musicians train younger musicians and that writers should read great literature in order to learn from it.

If a lot of writers (like me) have ended up in academia, it's not because we're necessarily drawn characterologically to the groves of academe; it's because academia offers writers a degree of stability that's impossible to find elsewhere -- a steady salary, a pension plan, health insurance -- while leaving us time to write. Especially as you get older, these things become more important. On the other hand, writers who teach in MFA programs often find themselves caught up -- unwittingly, it seems -- in academic politics and administration, and these demanding facets of the job can take up so much time that the writers have very little time left to write.

April 02, 2008

WEDNESDAY MARGINALIA

* James Wood's How Fiction Works has reached Australia, and now those reviews are starting to come in.

* Birds of Paradise is a novel written in collaboration by readers of the Los Angeles Times.  It looks, well, you be the judge:

Carmen Madonna Louise Ventura shimmied down the old, iron drainpipe that ran from the roof of her apartment building to the alley in the back, her strong legs gripping the slightly rusted metal. It wasn't her usual kind of pole, and under normal circumstances, she might have smiled at the irony. She was, after all, a pole dancer.

* National Poetry Month is upon us, and FSG's poetry blog is going all out.

* Where, oh where, have the literary salons gone?

* Blogging the Classics - a recap of the Oxford Literary Festival panel which included TEV favorite Mark Thwaite of ReadySteadyBook.com.

* The NYRoB disses Steinbeck, and the hometown decides to fight back.

Upon reading such an efficient put-down, we suddenly knew what it must be like to be a Saroyan enthusiast in Fresno. For as long as it took us to finish the piece, we found ourselves questioning our taste not only in literature but in music (hide the Cachagua Playboys CD), food (deny attendance at Pebble Beach Food & Wine) and movies (Clint Who?).

* Nice to see libraries get some author love.  Unbridled Books' Andrea Portes is touring California libraries.

* Andrew Furman pens a lengthy essay on "The Russification of Jewish-American Fiction" for Zeek.

As the literary world was busy showering Shteyngart’s debut with accolades, other young Russian immigrant writers such as Lara Vapnyar and David Bezmozgis were putting the final touches on their first fiction manuscripts, There are Jews in My House (2003) and Natasha (2004), respectively. Through these story collections, Vapnyar and Bezmozgis evoke the jagged contours of Jewish life in the Soviet Union and the tumultuous transition westward through a more restrained, understated English prose, through nearly Carveresque artistic temperaments. Shteyngart and Vapnyar have since contributed follow-ups to their first efforts–the uproarious Absurdistan (2006) and the carefully observed Memoirs of a Muse (2006)–and books by new Russian Jewish fiction writers continue to emerge, most notably Anya Ulinich’s Petropolis (2007), set in various Russian and American locales, sprawling and picaresque in its reach, and Ellen Litman’s The Last Chicken in America (2007), set amid the Russian Jewish enclave of Squirrel Hill, Pittsburgh.

* The man who started the Bookers suggests that not all winners have been especially deserving.

* Mary Dixie Carter considers Marguerite Duras's Wartime Writings in the Chronicle.

* Jeanette Winterson adds her name to the list of genre-crossing writers with her latest, The Stone Gods.

* A witty take on the Paris Review Interviews.

* Tom Teicholz blogs about Richard Price's recent ALOUD appearance, and realizes: "Price is the Anti-Roth."

* Yes, of course we noticed this recent Banville interview in the Village Voice.  We're just late in getting it to you.

* Peter Carey vents about dumb shit reviewers who are spoiling his story.

* And, finally, the live interview we gave at Duttons on Saturday is now available as a podcast.

March 31, 2008

THWAITE SPEAKS

It was a real treat for us to finally get to hear Mark Thwaite, one of the UK's best and brightest book bloggers, as he makes the case (and for some, apparently, the case still needs to be made) for reading literary blogs.  Well done, Mark.

MONDAY VIDEO ACTION

First up, there's a new episode of Titlepage online - this installment focuses on non-fiction writers.

Elsewhere, TEV reader Robert Nedelkoff writes in to alert us to this two-part interview in which Nabokov discusses Lolita with Lionel Trilling.  Robert notes "The moderator is the late Pierre Berton, author of many notable works on Canadian history. It was either Nabokov's first TV appearance or close to it. According to Brian Boyd's biography, unlike every subsequent TV appearance VN did where he approved (and usually rewrote) the questions beforehand and memorized written answers, it was completely unscripted. For quite a while there's been a TV interview with VN on Youtube - his last, on "Apostrophes," conducted in French - but this is the only online footage I know of involving him speaking in English."

March 27, 2008

POETS & WRTERS MAKEOVER

You'll want to check out the revamped P&W website.

RECOMMENDED

  • Diary of a Bad Year by J. M. Coetzee

    Yr

    Now, on the one hand, you scarcely need us to alert you to the existence of a new J.M. Coetzee novel, or even to have us tell you it's worth reading. But we can tell you - we insist on telling you that Diary of a Bad Year is a triumph, easily Coetzee's most affecting and fully wrought work since Disgrace. Formally inventive, the book intertwines two narratives with the author's own Strong Opinions, a series of seemingly discrete philosophical and political essays. The cumulative effect of this strange trio is deeply moving and thought provoking. It's increasingly rare in this thoroughly post-post-modern age to raise the kind of questions in fiction Coetzee handles so masterfully - right down to what is it, exactly, that we expect (or need) from our novels. It's telling that, for all of his serious pronouncements on subjects ranging from censorship to pedophilia to the use of torture, it's finally a few pages from The Brothers Karamazov that brings him to tears. Moving, wise and - how's this for a surprise - funny and lightly self-mocking, Diary of a Bad Year might well be the book of the year and Coetzee is surely our essential novelist. We haven't stopped thinking about it since we set it down.
  • The Indian Clerk by David Leavitt

    Tic_2

    David Leavitt's magnificent new novel tells the story of the unlikely friendship between the British mathematician G.H. Hardy and Srinivasa Ramanujan, mathematical autodidact and prodigy who had been working as a clerk in Madras, and who would turn out to be one of the great mathematical minds of the century. Ramanujan reluctantly joined Hardy in England - a move that would ultimately prove to his detriment - and the men set to work on proving the Riemann Hypothesis, one of mathematics' great unsolved problems. The Indian Clerk, an epic and elegant work which spans continents and decades, encompasses a World War, and boasts a cast of characters that includes Bertrand Russell, Ludwig Wittgenstein and Lytton Strachey. Leavitt renders the complex mathematics in a manner that resonates emotionally as well as intellectually, and writes with crystalline elegance. The metaphor of the prime number – divisible only by one and itself – is beautifully apt for this tale of these two isolated geniuses. Leavitt's control of this dense, sprawling material is impressive – astonishing, at times – and yet despite its scope, he keeps us focused on his great themes of unknowability and identity. The Indian Clerk might be set in the past but it doesn't resemble most so-called "historical fiction." Rather, it's an ageless meditation on the quests for knowledge and for the self – and how frequently the two are intertwined – that is, finally, as timeless as the music of the primes. (View our full week of coverage here.)
  • Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris

    Jf

    Joshua Ferris' warm and funny debut novel is an antidote to the sneering likes of The Office and Max Barry's Company. Treating his characters with both affection and respect, Ferris takes us into a Chicago ad agency at the onset of the dot-bomb. Careers are in jeopardy, nerves are frayed and petty turf wars are fought. But there are bigger stakes in the balance, and Ferris' weirdly indeterminate point of view that's mostly first person plural, underscores the shared humanity of everyone who has ever had to sit behind a desk. It's a luminous, affecting debut and you can read the first chapter right here.
  • Christine Falls by Benjamin Black

    Cf

    Coming to these shores at last, John Banville's thriller, written under the nom de plume Benjamin Black, has drawn rave reviews across the pond since it first appeared last October. Those who feared Banville might turn in an overly literary effort needn't worry. Influenced by Simenon's romans durs (hard stories), Banville unspools a dark mystery set in 1950s Dublin concerning itself with, among other things, the church's trade in orphans. At the heart of the book is the coroner Quirke, a Banvillean creation on par with Alex Cleave and Freddie Montgomery. Dublin is rendered with a damp, creaky specificity – you can almost taste the whisky.
  • The Paris Review Interviews, I by The Paris Review and Philip Gourevitch

    Pri

    Scanning our Recommended selections, one might conclude we're addicted to interviews, and one would be correct. If author interviews are like crack to us, then the Paris Review author interviews must surely be the gold standard of crack (a comparison Plimpton might not have embraced). The newly issued The Paris Review Interviews, Volume I (Picador) rolls out the heavy hitters. Who can possibly turn away from the likes of Saul Bellow, T.S. Eliot, Ernest Hemingway, Jorge Luis Borges, Dorothy Parker, Robert Gottlieb and others? The interviews are formal and thoughtful but never dry and can replace any dozen "how-to" books on writing. What can be more comforting than hearing Bellow, answering a question on preparations and conception, admit "Well, I don't know exactly how it's done.” The best part of this collection? The "Volume I" in the title, with its promise of more volumes to come.
  • Above Paris

    Ap_3

    See, we’re not all literary fiction here. Princeton Architectural Press’s absolutely breathtaking Above Paris is very much the kind of thing we’re eager to bring to your attention. Between 1950 and 1972, pilot and photographer Roger Henrard recorded more than 350 images of Paris from the seat of a single-engine Piper cub, documenting Paris from its outskirts to its center. His photographs show not only Paris's famous landmarks - they also give you a sense of the way the city is interconnected: the tight-knit medieval districts as well as the expansive geometry of the grand boulevards. Maps at the beginning of each chapter and fine captions and essays by Jean-Louis Cohen help you navigate the City of Light as never before. Just glorious.
  • The Dead Fish Museum: Stories by Charles D'Ambrosio

    Dfm

    The best short story collection we've read since ... well, certainly since we've started this blog. And we might even say "ever" if Dubliners didn't cast such a long shadow. The short story is not our preferred form but D'Ambrosio's eight brilliant stories are almost enough to convert us. Defy the conventional wisdom that short story collections don't sell and treat yourself to this marvel. (We're especially partial, naturally, to "Screenwriter".)
  • The Mystery Guest by Grégoire Bouillier
    *Now in Paperback*

    Mg

    What would you do if the woman who’d left you high and dry ten years ago called out of the blue to invite you to a party without any further explanation? If you’re French, you’d probably spend a lot of time pondering the Deeper Significance Of It All, which is exactly what Grégoire Bouillier does for the 120 hilarious pages of The Mystery Guest. This slim, witty memoir follows Bouillier through the party from hell, and is a case study in Gallic self-abasement. Before it’s all done, you’ll set fire to any turtleneck hanging in your closet and think twice before buying an expensive Bordeaux as a gift. But fear not – just when it seems that all is, indeed, random and pointless and there is no Deeper Significance, salvation arrives in the unlikely form of Virginia Woolf, and the tale ends on a note of unforced optimism. Parfait.
  • Ticknor by Sheila Heti

    Ticknor

    When George Ticknor's Life of William Hickling Prescott was published in 1864, it received rapturous notices, and reviewers were quick to point out that the long-standing friendship between Prescott and Ticknor made the latter an ideal Boswell. Sheila Heti has pulled this obscure leaf from the literary archives and fashioned a mordantly funny anti-history; a pungent and hilarious study of bitterness and promise unfulfilled. As a fretful Ticknor navigates his way through the rain-soaked streets of Boston to Prescott's house ("But I am not a late man. I hate to be late."), he recalls his decidedly one-sided lifelong friendship with his great subject. Unlike the real-life Ticknor, this one is an embittered also-ran, full of plans and intentions never realized, always alive to the fashionable whispers behind his back. Heti seamlessly inhabits Ticknor's fussy 19th-century diction with a feat of virtuoso ventriloquism that puts one in mind of The Remains of the Day. Heti's Ticknor would be insufferable if he weren't so funny, and in the end, the black humor brings a leavening poignancy to this brief tale. But don't let the size fool you — this 109-page first novel is small but scarcely slight; it is as dense and textured as a truffle.
  • The Believer Book of Writers Talking to Writers by Vendela Vida

    Bbk

    No, your eyes aren't deceiving you and yes, we are recommending a Believer product. Twenty-three interviews (a third presented for the first time) pairing the likes of Zadie Smith with Ian McEwan, Jonathan Lethem with Paul Auster, Edward P. Jones and ZZ Packer, and Adam Thirwell with Tom Stoppard make this collection a must-read. Lifted out of the context of some of the magazine's worst twee excesses, the interviews stand admirably on their own as largely thoughtful dialogues on craft. A handful of interviewers seem more interested in themselves than in their subjects but in the main this collection will prove irresistible to writers of any stripe - struggling or established - and to readers seeking a window into the creative process.
  • The Sea by John Banville

    Sea_1

    John Banville's latest novel returns him to the Booker Prize shortlist for the first time since 1989's The Book of Evidence. In The Sea, we find Banville in transition, moving from the icy, restrained narrators of The Untouchable, Eclipse and Shroud toward warmer climes. Max Morden has returned to the vacation spot of his youth as he grieves the death of his wife. Remembering his first, fatal love, Morden works to reconcile himself to his loss. Banville's trademark linguistic virtuosity is everpresent but some of the chilly control is relinquished and Max mourns and rages in ways that mark a new direction for Banville - and there's at least one great twist which you'll never see coming. Given the politicized nature of the British literary scene, Banville's shot at the prize might be hobbled by his controversial McEwan review but we're rooting for our longtime favorite to go all the way at last. UPDATE: Our man won!
  • Here Is Where We Meet by John Berger

    Berger

    We've been fans of Booker Prize winner John Berger for ages, and we're delighted to have received an early copy of his latest work, Here is Where We Meet. In this lovely, elliptical, melancholy "fictional memoir," Berger traverses European cities from Libson to Geneva to Islington, conversing with shades from his past – He encounters his dead mother on a Lisbon tram, a beloved mentor in a Krakow market. Along the way, we're treated to marvelous and occasionally heart-rending glimpses of an extraordinary life, a lyrical elegy to the 20th century from a man who - in his eighth decade - remains committed to his political beliefs and almost childlike in his openness to people, places and experiences. There's no conventional narrative here, and those seeking plot are advised to look elsewhere. But Here is Where We Meet offers a wise, moving and poetic look at the life of an artist traversing the European century from a novelist whose talent remains undimmed in his twilight years.
  • Home Land by Sam Lipsyte

    Slc

    In his recent TEV guest review of Home Land, Jim Ruland called Sam Lipsyte the "funniest writer of his generation," and we're quite inclined to agree.  We tore through Home Land in two joyful sittings and can't remember the last time we've laughed so hard.   Lipsyte's constellation of oddly sympathetic losers is rendered with a sparkling, inspired prose style that's sent us off in search of all his prior work. In Lewis Miner's (a.k.a Teabag) woeful epistolary dispatches to his high school alumni newsletter ("I did not pan out."), we find an anti-hero for the age.  Highly, highly recommended.

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work is reminiscent of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

    Rider_4

    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."

Enter your email address:

Delivered by FeedBurner

BUY INDEPENDENT!